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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248836">A private dance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis'>DracoIgnis</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf'>Dragon_and_Direwolf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Lapdance, Romance, Stag Nights &amp; Bachelor Parties</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:01:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,516</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For his cousin's stag do, Jon arranges a lapdancer to attend. But he never expected it to be his aunt Daenerys - and he certainly didn't expect old feelings to make a reappearance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>315</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A private dance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>To Jon, Daenerys was:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>1. His aunt, though they never felt related. They grew up as neighbours; kids of a similar age with similar interests. He taught her how to climb trees. She showed him how to rollerblade. They shared their first kiss beneath a blanket in the living room when they were five years old. Afterwards, Jon told his dad that he was going to marry her.<br/>“You can’t marry family,” Rhaegar replied with a laugh, and Jon angrily insisted:<br/>“Well, I am going to anyway!” The next day, he bought her a promise ring with his pocket money. As he grew up, he forgot about it, but she always was:</p>
  <p>2. A friend, someone he could rely on. Like when he got drunk at fifteen and she hid him in her bedroom closet, or when he broke the kitchen window playing baseball and Daenerys insisted she’d seen someone else do it. She was good at lying, and she did it expertly, never once expecting a favour in return. She became his confidant, his comrade, and his:</p>
  <p>3. Nightly fantasy; silver locks, pale violet eyes, velvet lips, warm gentle hands. By the time Jon turned twenty-five, she visited his dreams daily. Awake, he would see her, a figment of a memory flickering across his eyelids when he blinked; at night, he would feel her, in his hands as they travelled his naked body. In the moment, he felt bliss. In the aftermath, he felt guilt. After all, she was an innocent childhood sweetheart, and</p>
</blockquote><p>to Jon, Daenerys was not:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>4. A lapdancer in a black, see-through bodysuit, her nipples barely contained in the skimpy bra, her string disappearing between her fleshy buttocks, her voice dark and sultry as she asked: “Who’s the lucky boy?”</p>
</blockquote><p>- and he had to force himself to awkwardly gesture at his cousin Robb who was sitting in the sole chair on the deck.</p><p>Robb had made Jon his best man. <em> Best man. </em> Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He didn’t mind being the <em> funny man </em> who cracked jokes with Theon or the <em> drunk man </em> who got pissed with the guys from work on Thursdays, or even the <em> wingman </em> who always made sure his friends got hooked up on a night out. But <em> best man </em> demanded something great, something extraordinary - or, as Robb put it:</p><p>“Something <em> classy, </em> Jon, or Margaery’s gonna have my head!”</p><p>So for his stag do, Jon booked a boat party and, after a heartfelt conversation with Theon, hired a lapdancer to attend. He just never expected the agency to send <em> her. </em></p><p>As Britney Spears’ <em> Hold It Against Me </em> started hammering through the loudspeakers, Daenerys stepped out of the cabin into the cold evening air. The group of guys cheered and leaned back against the railing, gesturing for her to come closer to them, whilst Robb, pale faced and shivering in his tiny nurse-outfit, sent Jon a panicked look.</p><p>“Is that-?” his brother mimed, and Jon just swallowed and nodded:</p><p>“Yes. Yes it is.”</p><p>Daenerys didn’t seem to have noticed them yet. She looked tall and powerful in her five inch heels, and she didn’t even flinch as she strolled across the slick wooden deck, the soles of her shoes clacking loudly with every step. She was smiling at the guys, winking at them, giving them a shake of her full buttocks in passing. She looked gorgeous, Jon thought, and sexy, and confident.</p><p>And she looked mortified as she swung around on her heels and caught his eyes. The smile on her lips stiffened. Her violet eyes widened in shock. As Britney teased: <em> “Wanna know just how you feel,” </em> Daenerys looked like <em> feeling </em> anyone was the last thing on her mind.</p><p>“Last night of freedom!” Theon bellowed as he freed himself from the crowd. His voice was slurred by alcohol, but his hands seemed strong as they grabbed a hold of Robb’s chair and gave it a violet shake. He whistled at Daenerys: “Hey, girl, this one’s been <em> bad! </em> Think you can teach him a lesson?”</p><p>“Cut it out!” Jon hissed through gritted teeth. As Daenerys watched them, he dragged Theon away from Robb and whispered: “Don’t you recognise her?”</p><p>Theon scoffed: “I think I’d remember meeting someone like <em> that.” </em></p><p>“That’s <em> Daenerys,” </em> Jon breathed, his voice so hot it made Theon’s ear glow red. <em> “Daenerys Targaryen.” </em></p><p>Theon stared at him. “Daenerys?” he repeated, “like, <em>your aunt </em>Daenerys?” As Jon nodded, he did a slow whistle and dragged his eyes back to her and Robb. “Why did you hire <em>her?”</em></p><p>“I didn’t hire <em> her,” </em> Jon protested, “I hired <em> a </em> lapdancer.”</p><p>“Who happens to be your aunt?”</p><p>“Who happens to be my aunt,” Jon agreed sourly.</p><p>On the deck, Daenerys had picked back up on her dance again. The expression on her face was still tense, but the crowd too focused on her body to notice that anything was amiss. As she grabbed a hold of the armrests on Robb’s chair, leaned forward and arched her back until her arse was pushed up high, the boat shook with cheers from the guys.</p><p>“Fucking legend,” Theon mumbled impressed and lifted his pint of beer. He was staring at her intensely. “This must be hard for you, man.”</p><p>Jon, watching as Daenerys inched her cleavage closer to Robb’s red face, felt his groin throb and thought: <em> you have no idea. </em></p><p>The Daenerys from his fantasies had been <em> dirty, </em> sure - she would kiss every inch of his body and whisper heated nonsense in his ears and grab and grope her way to his cock, his hand becoming her sex as she rode him into the mattress. But the <em> real </em> Daenerys was <em> sexy: </em></p><p>- in the way she gyrated her body, her hands feeling herself, her eyes seeking the crowd for their reaction, and;</p><p>- in the way she circled the chair, swung her leg up over the backrest, her foot dangling down Robb’s chest as she leaned over him, brushed her fingers through his hair, made him flush as brightly red as his curly locks, and;</p><p>- in the way she moved to the music, her shoulders rocking, her hips swaying, her heels clicking, as if she became one with the song, one with the lyrics: <em> If I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me? </em></p><p>As Daenerys swung around and hovered her behind above Robb’s groin, swaying her buttocks temptingly in the air before lowering herself down to sit on his lap, the guys cheered: “Ohh!” and Robb coughed:</p><p>“Ohh!” holding up his hands to show he wasn’t touching her. His face was sticky with sweat. His heart was beating so quickly that Jon could see his Adam’s apple jumping. “Oh. Oh boy, wow, that’s… that’s something.”</p><p>“Go get it, you dirty bastard!” Theon bellowed. When Jon sent him an odd look, he just shrugged: “She’s not <em> my </em> aunt,” before turning back to the show with a grin.</p><p><em> Aunt. </em> Jon tried to remind himself over and over - as Daenerys rubbed her buttocks to Robb’s groin, as she winked and waved at the crowd, as she swung her silver hair around and made it fall over his cousin’s head, the locks tickling his cheeks and hiding his red face - he thought: <em> aunt. </em> But it did no difference to the warm sensation that was spreading from his stomach down to his crotch. His cock hardened all the same.</p><p><em> “Would you hold it against me!” </em> The song ended on a beat, with Daenerys straddling Robb’s lap, her body arched so far back that her hands almost touched the deck. The guys were laughing and cheering, and Jon awkwardly clapped his hands as he watched his aunt climb off his cousin. He thought the show was over</p><p>- until <em>Sweet Dreams’</em>started playing.</p><p>Daenerys had barely gotten into position before Robb scrambled to his feet with an awkward laugh. “Margaery is going to kill me,” he said, though the look he sent Jon was: <em> I am going to kill you! </em> “Someone better take my spot.”</p><p>“I’ll do it!” Theon said, throwing his beer into some random guy’s hand as he stepped forward.</p><p>But it was Jon that Robb grabbed a hold of. “You go, <em> Jon,” </em> he said, his voice forcefully cheery. “You deserve it for arranging such a <em> nice surprise.” </em></p><p>“Fuck off,” Jon hissed, and he tried to break free of Robb’s strong hands as he dragged him toward the chair. Daenerys was already dancing, rocking her body back and forth as she dully watched the commotion. She looked angry. She looked revengeful. Jon wasn’t sure what was going through her mind as Robb pushed him into the chair, but he doubted it was anything <em> pleasant. </em></p><p>The evening air no longer felt cold. The breeze from the water barely touched Jon’s skin. As he sat in the chair, uncomfortably settling against the plastic back-rest and his hands gripping onto the squeaky armrests, he just felt hot and sweaty - and <em>nervous.</em> <em>Aunt</em> was what he thought earlier and now, as Daenerys turned to him, her eyes hard but her body soft like water, swaying and swinging in a mesmerising dance, he tried to think: <em>friend.</em></p><p><em> Friend, </em> Jon reminded himself, trying to cling onto their teenage years as Daenerys brushed his thighs with her hands, crawled over him, hovered his hardened groin with her clothed sex.</p><p><em> Friend, </em> Jon thought desperately, thinking about the dinners they’d shared in their twenties as Daenerys’ fingers sunk into his curls, dragged his head back, exposed his neck to her hot breath.</p><p><em> Friend, </em> Jon felt like shouting, remembering his thirtieth birthday when she came over and held his hand and told him: “It’s never too late,” without specifying <em> what </em> he could still obtain, <em> who </em> he could still ask out.</p><p>But when Daenerys started rocking her hips, circling his groin with her buttocks, her legs swinging up over his shoulders and spreading for him to see everything and nothing at once, her black pants keeping her decent, it was <em> nightly fantasy </em> that took over Jon’s brain.</p><p>He could smell her; perfume, deodorant, a tingle of lemon from a bottle of infused water. He could feel her; warm and sweaty, her skin slick with perspiration and lotion, her cleavage glimmering in the setting sun.</p><p>And he could taste her, in the air between them, as she leaned in and almost kissed him, and in his mind he dragged his hands through her silver hair, pulled her in, and claimed her mouth.</p><p>But in reality, he saw as she pulled away, a dark glimpse in her eyes, and all sounds around him reappeared; the cheering crowd, the stomping feet, the whistles and groans of disappointment when Daenerys straightened up and the music stopped.</p><p>“My turn!” Theon begged, but Jon knew the show was over. He still couldn’t get up, his knees tightly pulled together as he tried to hide his erection, and he was at once grateful for the darkness that was settling over the boat. “My turn!” Theon still pleaded as Daenerys waved to the guys and sent them air-kisses, a smirk on her lips as she turned and disappeared back into the cabin. <em> “My turn!” </em></p><p>“Get married, and I’ll get you a stripper,” Robb promised and patted his back. He leaned onto Jon’s shoulders, staring from the closing door to his cousin’s face. “That was some show.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Jon muttered. He was still watching the door, as if Daenerys was going to reappear any minute. But it remained shut, and the guys around them returned to drinking and chatting. He felt the cold again in the shape of a freezing breeze dragging across the salty waters, bashing against his face. He shivered and hugged himself. “I didn’t know it was going to be <em> her.” </em></p><p>“I really can’t tell Margaery. She was already hesitant when Theon suggested a stripper, but a <em> lapdancer?” </em> He paused. <em> “Your aunt.” </em></p><p>Jon’s cock throbbed and he groaned: “You don’t have to remind me!” before stumbling to his feet. He sent them a timid look over his shoulder before mumbling: “I’m going to check if she’s okay.” Then, without looking back, he strolled inside after Daenerys.</p><p>The cabin was sharply lit, and consisted of a small hallway with two rooms on each side. Jon knocked on every door until a voice told him: “I’m busy!” and he paused outside the room. He could hear movement; rustling of clothes, a zipper being pulled. He pressed his ear to the worn wood and called:</p><p>“Daenerys?” All the noises stopped.</p><p>For a moment, Jon wondered if she was pretending not to have heard him, but then she said: “Jon?” her voice quiet through the keyhole.</p><p>Jon felt his heartbeat quicken. He knelt down, just low enough so that he could see the light falling out from the keyhole, and he said: “Look, Dany, I’m so sorry. I had <em> no idea.” </em></p><p>“Of course you didn’t,” Daenerys replied. He could hear her move too, settling behind the door. The wood groaned as she leaned against it. “Why would I tell you?”</p><p>“Have you been doing it for long?”</p><p>“A few years.”</p><p>Jon paused. “Do you like it?”</p><p>“Is this an interview?”</p><p>Jon breathed a quiet laugh through his nose. “Sorry,” he said again.</p><p>“Mhmm.” Daenerys was fiddling with something. It sounded metallic. He could hear it click to her nails. “It’s just a bit of fun, really. The money’s good, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not desperate or anything.”</p><p>“You don’t have to explain,” Jon assured her.</p><p>“Don’t I? Because it feels like I do.” Click. Click. The metal kept twisting.</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“Nothing.” The sound stopped with a snap. Jon could hear her breathing hard on the other side of the door. “You know,” Daenerys said, her voice slightly breathless, “you shouldn’t judge me. Guys like you hire me to dance-”</p><p>“I’m not judging,” Jon said quickly.</p><p>“-and then you act like it’s the worst thing a woman can do.”</p><p>“Dany,” Jon interrupted, pressing his hands to the door. He paused, then he knelt, pushing his eye to the keyhole. All he could see was the room - carpeted, old, the furnishing sparse. Her outfit was hanging over an armchair in the corner, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. “Dany, I don’t care what you do. Could we just- please, can we just talk?”</p><p>A pause. Then, the noise of Daenerys shuffling. He saw her as she got up from behind the door, grabbed at the handle, and opened it. He looked up. She stood above him, tall and blushing, a fuzzy robe wrapped around her frame, and her hand clenched tight at her chest. She looked pretty. She looked embarrassed. As Jon got back onto his feet, she stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.</p><p>As the door closed behind him, Jon awkwardly stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and kicked at the floor. He wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt shy looking at her. Being given a lapdance in a crowd was a bit of fun. Being alone in a room with his childhood sweetheart was something entirely different. It felt serious. It felt <em> raw. </em></p><p>“So,” Daenerys said and shrugged, “what do you want to talk about?”</p><p>Jon licked his lips. “I guess,” he mumbled, stopped. “I suppose,” he tried, but again, he felt at a loss for words. He kicked the floor. He glanced toward her. She met his gaze boldly. It made him flush. “I wanted to check if you’re okay.”</p><p>“I just had to give a lapdance to my nephew in front of his cousin and his friends,” Daenerys said, “of course I’m not okay.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“You’ve said that. It’s not your fault.”</p><p>“But you’re not okay?”</p><p>“I will be when I’ve had a stiff drink,” Daenerys sighed. There was a small smile on her lips.</p><p>It gave Jon the courage to look more directly at her. “They’re all drunk,” he promised, “they’ll forget.”</p><p>“I know,” Daenerys said, “they always do.”</p><p>“Can’t promise I will,” he jested.</p><p>Daenerys let go of a painful laugh. She shook her head and hid her face behind her hands. “Oh, fuck, Jon, what are we doing?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Jon sent her an odd look as she continued to shake her head. When she still didn’t look at him, he walked over and gently pried her hands off her face. “Hey,” he muttered, perplexed at her sudden change of mood, “I was just joking. I- I promise, I will forget,” he lied.</p><p>“Will you really?” Daenerys asked, opening her hands in his. “Because I won’t.”</p><p>Jon looked down. There, in her palm, was a dented piece of metal. Time had made it green and grim to look at, but he recognised it immediately. “That’s the promise ring,” he said with a surprised laugh. He gingerly picked it up and turned it between his fingertips, looking at it with awe. “I gave that to you when we were, what, six?”</p><p>“Five,” Daenerys corrected him. She was watching him, intensely, her arms wrapped around her frame. She looked cold, and small, and nervous. She bit her lower lip. When he met her gaze, she looked down. “That was twenty-six years ago.”</p><p>“Twenty-six,” Jon said with amazement. “You’ve kept it all this time?”</p><p>“You’re holding it, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Right.” Jon lowered the ring as he eyed her; her flushed cheeks, her bashing lashes, her shy eyes. He closed his palm around the metal. He reached his other hand up to touch her chin. As he tipped her head back, her eyes closed, denying to look at him. “Dany-” he started, but she interrupted him stubbornly:</p><p>“You’re my nephew.” She took in a deep breath through her nose. Her nostrils flared. She still didn’t look. “I’m well aware. You’re my nephew, and you’re my friend, and I should stop chasing some fantasy I’ve had since I was a little girl.”</p><p>Jon stroked her chin. His thumb brushed to her warm skin. “But?” he said, stepping closer. Daenerys didn’t move away - as he pushed in, their bodies met, and soon, he was so close that his breath was bashing down across her face. Her lips were shivering. He felt like kissing them. “But?”</p><p>“But,” Daenerys whispered, and as Jon’s thumb brushed to her lower lip, she opened her eyes with a gasp. She looked up at him. He looked down at her. Her hands dug into his shirt, shivering, desperate for something to hold on to. “But you visit my dreams every night.”</p><p>Jon kissed her. Softly and gently, tasting her gasps, her breath, her surprise. And then firmly, hardly, swallowing her greed, her need, her longing. As she pulled him closer, he stepped in, trapping her to the wall behind, covering her with his heat.</p><p><em> Twenty-six years, </em> he thought as Daenerys’ lashes flickered at his cheeks, her lips parted in a quiet moan, <em> twenty-six years. </em></p><p>Twenty-six years of thinking, of ‘what if’s, of dreaming, of craving, of pining, of believing. Twenty-six years of one night stands and relationships that broke after a year, his hand inevitably ending up intertwined with hers, in the night, as they whispered about how friends stay together through thick and thin. <em> Friends. </em> They should’ve kissed, he thought, they should’ve made love. After all, they <em> were </em> in love.</p><p>Just like now, as Jon broke the kiss for a gasp of air, his lips wet and tired, his eyes eager as he stared into hers.</p><p>Daenerys took in a deep breath. Her hands were still at his chest, closed at his shirt, dragging at the fabric. For a moment, she looked like she was going to drag it off of him</p><p>- but then fireworks set off in the distance. A door slammed open. In the hallway, someone could be heard running. “We need a best man and a blow-up doll,” Theon shouted, <em> “now!” </em></p><p>Daenerys chuckled as Jon groaned. “I think you’re needed.”</p><p><em> “Twenty-six years,” </em>Jon reminded her, breathlessly.</p><p>Daenerys looked at him. Then, she looked at his hand. She pushed her fingers into it, peeled the old ring free, and slipped it onto her little finger. It sat perfectly. “Twenty-six years,” she nodded, “so I guess we can wait another twenty-six minutes. Go,” she gave him a gentle push toward the door, his feet unwilling to move, “I’ll join you when I’m dressed.”</p><p>“Is that a promise?” Jon asked, only slowly backing toward the door, his hand hesitant on the handle.</p><p>Daenerys smiled and pointed to the ring. “Promise.”</p><hr/><p>To Jon, Daenerys was:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>1. His aunt, and:</p>
  <p>2. His friend, and:</p>
  <p>3. His nightly fantasy, and:</p>
</blockquote><p>As fireworks spilled across the sky, and a group of guys scattered on the deck attempted to pass a blow-up doll between them without using their hands, Jon caught a glimpse of Daenerys seated on a plastic chair, her back resting against the metal railing. And he thought: <em> to me, Daenerys is: </em></p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>4. The love of my life.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>- and the fact that she could give one hell of a lapdance was only a bonus Jon was looking forward to experiencing more of.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oof I felt the awkwardness writing this - I hope it showed in the story too! Bless these two lovelies. May Jon have many private dances to come..</p><p>We're at a countdown now with three stories to go! Tomorrow will be explicit and contain a nice pair of boots - so leather lovers beware.</p><p>As always: thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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